We Were Infinite Once
by squeakyswings
Summary: "She likes me," he tells the hag, because the night before she had kissed him; she had brushed her hands over his spine and her fingertips had trailed lightning across his skin. — Lily/James - For Ela


**Disclaimer:**I do not own _Harry Potter.__  
><em>**A/N:** Happy birthday, Ela! I'm sorry this is late, and I'm sorry it's so short. I hope it satisfies your James/Lily craving. (And I hope the "smut" is worthy of you.) Love you!

He loses her on their fifth date. They've just had dinner at the Three Broomsticks and they are in Zonko's to buy something to use on Remus and Sirius (her idea). She is by his shoulder, laughing, her red hair waterfalling down her back and her freckles peeking from her Gryffindor gold scarf and he's enchanted and cannot look away and then he does, and she is gone.

He drops the box of itching powder (_make your friends sparkle and scratch!_) on the shelf and stands on tiptoe, looking for any sign of her in the shop. It's a Friday night and there are only three customers but he cannot see her anywhere; she is not between the shelves of fake quills or beside the rows of trick broomsticks; she is not among the canisters of colour-changing punch or the sour pumpkin juice. She has effectively dropped from the face of Zonko's.

"Lily?" he calls tentatively, softly enough that the old hag lingering over the slightly-less-ugly masks by the window can't hear him. Lily doesn't miraculously appear at his feet, or at his shoulder, over by the joke knickers that turn into a fluffy teddy bear the minute you snap them up around your waist.

James tries not to panic. After all, they're in Zonko's, she was with him a moment ago, and there has been no news of suspicious disappearances in the area at all. Nothing can have happened to her. Those are the facts.

But James's sudden and unexpected reality is that Lily was there and that now she is gone. And for some reason, this reality seems much more dire and immediate than all the indications that her disappearance won't become a tragedy, won't be plastered all over _The Daily Prophet_ in the morning.

"Lily?" His voice is slightly louder this time, and the hag glances over at him. She doesn't _look_ like his redheaded date, of course, but maybe Lily's playing a trick on him. Maybe.

He approaches the hag and coughs. He can't very well say, "Lily? Is that you under all those warts?" so instead he asks, "You haven't seen a girl with red hair around, have you?"

"Yes, I have." The hag grins unpleasantly and James's heart beats faster. "She was just over there, with you."

Damn. "But have you seen her in the last two minutes?"

The hag shakes her head.

_Damn_. "Okay, thanks anyway." James turns away and considers the man by the joke knickers. Maybe he's seen something.

"Ever considered she might have decided she doesn't like you anymore, and skived off?" the hag asks as he starts to walk away.

James glances over his shoulder. "She likes me," he tells the hag, because Lily had been laughing, she had held his hand, and the night before she had kissed him; she had brushed her hands over his spine and her fingertips had trailed lightning across his skin.

"Whatever you say, lover-boy." The hag cackles as she turns back to the masks, and James glares at her stooped figure before approaching his next target.

The man's hands are shaking and James is ninety-nine percent certain that this white-haired, liver-spotted, lecherous old wizard has stolen Lily for some nefarious Death Eater plot. He lowers his voice to a threatening level and asks, "And you? Have you seen a red-haired witch anywhere?"

"N-n-n-not s-s-s-inc-c-c-e..." the man trails off and nods toward the display where James had last stood with Lily.

"Really?" James raises an eyebrow. The man jerks his head up and down, in a fairly convincing nod, and James cannot read the lie in his rapidly twitching eyes.

He looks at the curly-haired woman leaning on her elbows by the till. Her eyes are closed as she sways to the song playing on the radio behind her. He leaves his seriously diseased and/or drugged companion and interrupts the shopkeeper's reverie. "Excuse me, have you seen the witch who came in with me anywhere?"

She keeps her eyes closed. "Nope."

James bites the inside of his cheek. Still no sign of red hair and freckles and curves and forever-long legs. But people don't just disappear. There's a curtain hanging behind the counter, obscuring the storeroom, and it's possible that she snuck back there while the woman was daydreaming.

"Mind if I go in the back to look for her?"

The woman waves one thick wrist. "Whatever, sweetheart."

James skirts the counter and pushes aside the cloth. The back storeroom of Zonko's is overflowing with heavenly goods, but James is only interested in finding Lily, and she does not seem to be back here.

And then he feels the hot brush of breath on his cheek. He freezes, his hands stuck in his pockets, his feet solid on the floor. His right hand curls around his wand, presses the tip into his thigh as he prepares to attack as soon as the owner of the breath makes him/herself known. Whoever it is, James is sure, has stolen Lily and now wants to kidnap him.

Then this thing is touching him. It/he/she is drawing over the back of his neck, tracing indecipherable designs over his shirt, down his back—there are swirls and twirls and occasional moments of delicious pressure. He attempts to focus on the movements, to see if he/she/it is writing something, and he wonders if he/she/it is actually hypnotizing him, paralyzing him in order to whisk him away for those Death Eater plans. The pressures of his/her (certainly human) hands reach the top of his trousers and and and—fall away.

He only has a moment to be disappointed before he feels that breath at his neck again and then there is the softness of lips and the silky wetness of a tongue and oh, Merlin, he hopes to hell that this human is a she because otherwise he might have to re-evaluate his entire sex life...and then he lets out an involuntary moan and the lips are gone and the air around him erupts into familiar giggles.

"Lily?" His voice croaks but he can't bring himself to care.

He turns and finds her head floating in midair. She's still laughing but she manages, "Who'd you think it was? McGonagall?"

That introduces a thoroughly unpleasant image into James's imagination. He scowls. "Of course not, just..." and then he realizes what he's seeing. "I was worried!" he explodes. "And all that time you were just under the cloak?"

Lily grins, shrugging her shoulders so the liquid silver cloth crumples at her feet. She leans down to pick it up and slips it back into her bag. "You should've known better than to trust me with it, James."

He's still scowling.

"It was just a joke." She punches him lightly on the arm. "Come on, man, lighten up."

"I thought..." he hesitates, wondering whether she'll think him weak or judge him or hate him for being overprotective. He decides he doesn't much care. "There's a war on, Evans. You can't pull shit like that when people really are disappearing."

A blush rises up her neck to burn her cheeks and she bites her lip. "Sorry, James, I didn't think."

"Of course you didn't. You're not the one who was left behind. I'm just saying, please don't leave me again."

"Okay," she agrees, and holds out her pinkie to swear on it. James grins and leans down to kiss her instead.

She takes his hand after he pulls away and tells him, "The hag was wrong. I do like you."

"I know." He leads the way from the back of the shop and takes her back to the itchy powder. "Still want to pull that prank?"

"Fuck, yeah." She reaches for the powder that turns its victim sparkly pink and shakes the container. "Think there's enough in here for both of them?"

"We can just put it in Moony's bed." James takes it from her and sets it on the counter. The shopkeeper jerks out of her near-comatose state long enough to mumble, "Six galleons."

"Why?" Lily asks, slipping the container in her bag, beside the invisibility cloak and who knows what else, and takes James's hand again as they leave the shop.

"They haven't spent a night in Sirius's since I woke them up fifth year with an _Auguamenti_ Charm. That was when I first found out about them, you know, and for some reason they are not fond of the memory." He grins at her. "I really can't imagine why, though."

"Mmm, yeah." Lily smirks. "Everyone loves to be woken up by shouting and freezing cold water at one in the morning."

"It was more like three. And I did not _shout_, Lil. I simply said, 'Why does no one tell me anything?' and then I gave them a bath."

Lily laughs. "That is certainly not the way Remus tells the story. Come on." She tugs him into an alley and pulls the invisibility cloak from her bag. "Let's get home so we can put the powder in his bed tonight. I want them to see if it works."

"It's Zonko's," James tells her, ducking so he can fit beside her beneath the cloak. "It'll work. Not quite as well as if you and I had invented something, but well enough." They're close, beneath the cloak, and he could kiss her. Except she begins moving, hustling them toward Honeydukes.

"I wish we could find an easier way to school. I hate this part," she whispers as she opens the door to the cellar at a nudge from James.

"There's always the Shrieking Shack," he murmurs back, her scent making him forget the utterly secret and impossibly dangerous pact he and his mates made regarding that pathway and that wretched building.

"Is there?" Lily sounds uninterested, focusing on keeping her steps in time with James's as they go down the stairs. "Well, I wouldn't fancy crawling through there, either. Imagine the ghosts have messed it up a bit."

She doesn't really sound serious, though, and James wonders whether she suspects; she's the sort who would understand everything, and just leave it be because she knows that it is best the way it is. James feels a rush of affection for her, but she doesn't pause by the trapdoor long enough for him to touch her, let alone tell her, and he follows her into the tunnel because he can't do anything less, and all he wants to do is too much.

She lets him carry the invisibility cloak as they hurry through the underground corridor, and when they reach the statue she barely bothers to check to see if anyone's in the hall. "We'll be fine," she tells him. "We're allowed out."

Technically, he supposes that it's true. But truthfully, if McGonagall catches them, they'd be hard pressed to tell her what, exactly, they'd been doing that required so many layers. Lily still has her jacket and scarf on, and James has a hat tugged low over his ears.

But they don't meet anyone on their way to Gryffindor, and when Lily climbs through the portrait hole she almost disappears into the crowd for a moment, before he feels her hand in his again and her head leans against his shoulder and she murmurs, "Your mates are over there. Will you keep them distracted while I go prepare their bed?"

They're lounging by the fire, and it looks as if Sirius is plotting something—he has a piece of parchment by the hearth and he's scribbling frantically, while Remus occasionally tugs at Sirius's messy hair to get his attention and Peter has his nose pressed to the pages of their Potions textbook.

"It's the one closest to the door," James tells her, and she winks at him and walks boldly through the crowd, glances over her shoulder once, and hurries up the stairs to the seventh year boys' dormitory.

James falls down beside Peter. "Hey, boys."

"Prongs," Peter says, tugging his textbook from under James's left foot.

"How was the date?" Remus asks.

"Quite good." James leans over and pushes his glasses into place, narrowing his eyes to try ineffectively to read Sirius's scribbles upside down. "What're you working on, Padfoot?"

Sirius lifts his head. "I am not at liberty to tell you. It involves you and Lily and it is top secret."

Peter rolls his eyes. "He's been going on about how 'secret' it is all night. He won't even tell Moony."

"Ah, well, Wormtail, that would be cheating, wouldn't it? Don't worry, Prongs, it's a good surprise. I promise."

"Sure. What're you going to do, magically connect us when we leave for Christmas hols, so we can't go to separate places?"

Sirius scowls up at him. "Stop being such a smart arse, Potter."

"Smart?" Lily drops beside James and leans her head on his shoulder. "I wouldn't call James smart."

"Ouch," Peter mutters.

"And you said your date was 'quite good?'" Remus smirks. "Doesn't sound like Lily agrees."

Lily shakes her head. "Just saying, Sirius, if you need smartness, you should probably come to me. Or Remus."

"Stop your hilarity," James mutters, leaning back so her head falls beneath his chin. "You're too funny, Evans."

She laughs. "I really am, though."

James doesn't want the night to end. He doesn't want Lily to lift her head from his chest and he doesn't want to let go of her small hand. He doesn't want Remus to stop looking at Sirius like he's insane but lovable and he doesn't want Peter to stop trying to pass Potions. James doesn't want Sirius to stop making up ridiculous but good-hearted schemes, even if they often end badly. He thinks that at this moment he is probably the happiest he's ever been, maybe the happiest he'll ever be—they are all together and they're all content and no one is wishing they were anywhere else.

But eventually Peter yawns and closes his book. "I can't do any more of this tonight. I'm going to bed." And then Remus follows him less than five minutes later, and Lily stands, leaving too much space beside James, and then it is just him and Sirius, waiting for the tiredness to force them to bed.

"I'm going," James finally gives in, standing in stretching.

"All right." Sirius doesn't cover his mouth as he yawns, and James is afforded an unpleasant view of the mess chocolate has made of his tongue. "I'll be up soon."

"Make sure you brush your teeth before you go to bed. Moony might kick you out if you don't," James calls over his shoulder, neatly dodging the shoe Sirius chucks at his back as he heads up the staircase.

He's surprised to find that the curtains on his four-poster are shut when he reaches the dormitory. He usually leaves them open. But he doesn't really think much of it as he tugs his shirt over his head and unbuttons his trousers, dropping them in a pile by the bed. He pulls off his socks and pushes the curtains aside, barely holding in an unmanly shriek when he finds that his bed is not empty.

Lily Evans is sitting there, wearing an oversized T-shirt, with her hair hanging red around her shoulders and her green eyes glowing in the dim light from her wand. James attempts nonchalance, but his hands drop to hang by his waist, linking over the crotch of his tartan boxers in an entirely unintentional manner.

Lily smirks at him.

"What—what—what?" James stammers, feeling sort of like that bloke in Zonko's.

"You told me never to leave you again." She shrugs. "So I clearly can't leave you for a whole eight hours."

His mouth falls open.

"Are you going to get in bed or not? There's room." She moves over and pats the space beside her.

He glances down at his bare chest, then at the long soft legs stretched on his bed, then at his own trouser-less legs, then at her face. She's biting her lip to keep from laughing.

"Honestly, Potter, when did you become such a prude? I'm going to see it all anyway."

"You are?"

Lily laughs, soft enough that she doesn't wake Remus or Peter. "Come _on_." She reaches for his wrists and pulls his hands away from his body. "James. Get in bed."

He stares at her. "You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, you idiot." She tugs hard at his hands and topples him onto the mattress. She directs her wand at the curtains and they swing shut again, and then James and Lily are alone and hidden, the light from her wand sending shadows on the cloth around them.

"What're we doing?" James asked, sitting up and taking her hands more securely in his.

"We could go to sleep," she tells him. "We could talk." She doesn't sound like she's too happy with that suggestion. "We could," and then she leans forward and that mouth is on his again, and her hands are on his shoulders and somehow she's in his lap, her legs tight against his sides.

He pulls away. "We could," he says, running his hands down her back, over the cloth of her shirt, until he gets to where it bunches around her thighs and his hands stall, his fingers play along the hem as hers wind their way down his back, along the bumps in his spine, down to the elastic of his boxers. The minute hers slip beneath the elastic his ride up against her sides, up until where he'd normally find a bra but she isn't wearing one. His hands are gentle as they run up up over her breasts and his thumbs circle and she moans into his mouth, breaking their kiss to lower her lips to his neck, her teeth light before they tug at his skin.

He runs his hands down her stomach and her lips dip down his neck—there's space between them now, but not between her mouth and his chest, not between his hands and her waist, not between her hands and his hips—there's no space between their gasps of breath, no break in their continuous touch touch _touch_.

And then he tugs at the hem of her shirt, and she leans away from him, her legs linked around his waist as he pulls the shirt over her head, so her hair falls down from the neck in a mess around her face and he can see her and he can see that she doesn't have freckles everywhere like he thought she did, that there's a space of milky skin just _there_, inches below her collarbone and he's mesmerized by it, and he leans forward to kiss it and she moans again, her hands gripping at his shoulders, fingernails digging.

She scoots away from him, back toward the headboard, and he follows her, her knees bent as her fingers reach for the waistband of his boxers and she looks at him, her hazy green eyes meeting his hazel ones, asking his permission. He nods and she pulls at them, releasing his erection and her eyes graze over it and he can see the barest smile but he can't ask her _why_ she's smiling—isn't that sort of offensive? she's supposed to bow down before him or something, salivate maybe—because her hands are at her waist and she's tugging at her pants, now, pulling the white cotton down over her thighs and then her calves and then kicking them off of one ankle to the far corner of the bed. He kneels to finish tugging off his own boxers and his eyes are on her and he's never felt this nervous before, but it's never been Lily before, either.

"James?" she whispers, and he realizes he's frozen there, taking her in, when he could have her, really have her, and he reaches for her, his hands on her waist, her hipbones, and she's hot around him, her mouth on his as they move together, each fumbling a little at the newness of each other, Lily wincing as he pushes inside her, wincing, her nails biting into his shoulders, her teeth bruising his neck, and then they're both lost to any thoughts. Lost to each other. Lost to the moment. Time stops.

They wake up the next morning tangled around each other, skin touching in as many places as possible. But they don't wake up to the lovely lazy glow of late morning light; instead, they awake to a scream. Or, rather, two screams.

"What the bloody fuck?" Sirius.

"Holy fucking shit!" Remus.

"How the fuck?"

"What the hell?"

"It itches!"

"OH, Merlin!"

Lily and James grin at each other for a moment, each feeling that blazing burst of contentment that comes after a successful prank, and then their bliss crashes around them as Sirius wrenches open the curtains.

"What the fuck, Potter?" he shouts, his face obscured by a shimmering hot pinkness. "What the—oh, fuck."

Lily tugs the sheets up to cover her to her neck, but James slips from beneath the duvet, reaching for where his boxers had fallen on the floor, and tugs them on. "You look smashing, Sirius dear," he says.

Sirius doesn't respond. He is staring down at Lily's grinning face. "Merlin," he says. "You and him—were—last night—you _were_?"

Remus has appeared at James's shoulder and if his face weren't already pink, he would have been blushing. "Oh, sorry, Lily." He takes Sirius's shoulder and says, "Maybe you ought to close the curtains so Lil can get dressed, yeah, Sirius?"

Sirius jerks away from him. "Don't touch me! It itches."

Lily smirks up at them. "You both look stunning. That's a good colour on you."

"Merlin, I hate you." Sirius mutters as Remus reaches around him to tug the curtains closed with one glittering hand.

James peeks through the other side as Lily reaches for her shirt. "But _I_ love you."

Lily laughs. "I love you, too."

"I despise you _both_!" Sirius shouts over the sound of Remus's faux-retching.

James and Lily grin at each other. He'll get over it, they know. He always does.

**A/N:** I hope that wasn't horrible. See, Ela, I told you I suck at Lily/James. And smut.  
>(I do appreciate reviews, even (especially) if they're constructive.)<p> 


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